


dark quiet safe

by everything555everything



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Closets, Dissociation, Emotional Reassurance, Gen, Literal Closets, Post-Canon, Supportive Friendship, this turned into meta at some parts oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 04:13:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5320064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everything555everything/pseuds/everything555everything
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes he gets overwhelmed. He’s been told that’s okay. Adam at this point can accept charity, but it’s so much harder asking for help. So, when things are too much, he just finds a small space to calm down.</p>
<p>(tentative post-canon)</p>
            </blockquote>





	dark quiet safe

**Author's Note:**

> i'm getting better at writing these characters ! :D  
> this is something i've wanted to write for a while. i'm pretty happy with it.
> 
> tw for dissociation and anxiety attacks, nothing really graphic but still there

300 Fox Way’s graduation party has been going along well.

Gansey, all gloriously mussed hair and flushed cheeks, had raised a glass and said, _To college!_

Ronan, all brilliant sneers and kicked-up feet, had raised an arm and yelled, _for you fuckers!_

Blue had laughed, wild, drumming her fingers on the kitchen table next to Maura’s signature sludgy brownies. The heat from the oven had made her hair stick up more than usual.

Noah had done nothing at all, because he wasn’t there.

Adam had smiled, blinking out the dryness of his eyes.

And now it’s five minutes later. Gansey and Blue are having an animated discussion about college study-abroad trips, Maura and Calla cutting in with equally snippy and encouraging remarks. The table is littered with brownies and cupcakes and juice drinks and Adam’s single slice of pecan pie, which he’d prepared himself. Outside, the beech tree scrapes against the window. Thumping in the background is the synthetic sound Ronan calls music, a playlist he’d insisted on showing off. Every third track is the Murder Squash song, and no one has figured this out yet except Adam.

Gansey’s hand is remarkably close to Blue’s on the table. Adam doesn’t understand why he doesn’t get it over with and hold hands with her; they both obviously want to. He _can,_ now.

His head tilted back, nodding to the beat, Ronan looks half-asleep. Adam can tell he’s not even tired by the way his lips keep up with the lyrics. His hand is tossed arrogantly to the side, fingers curved up. It’s done it in a way so that his fingers are less than an inch from Adam’s knee.

Adam _can,_ now.

But it still feels dangerous.

The track in the background is suddenly oppressive, snarled voices tamping down Adam’s thoughts. Gansey and Blue’s laughter sounds less like laughter and more like jumbled radio static. The heat from the oven is slowly drowning the room.

Adam glances back down at Ronan’s hand. Back up to the conversation, the remarks. Everything is free and wild in this room, everyone else perfectly in tune with the chaos of the atmosphere. The heat. The shouts from others down the hall to _turn that the hell down._ The heat. The shouts, laughter, the _noise._

The heat.

Adam’s hands are shaking. His ribcage feels as fragile as rusted wire, barely containing the fluttering bird that is his heart. It’s pounding against his chest. He’s light, he knows, mostly due to genetics and continued lack of energy, but he could float right now. No, crash to the floor, all glass, and then sink through the floorboards and return to the earth.

He needs to get out of here. He’s not wild. Not enough.

Adam stands up, his leg brushing Ronan’s hand. His legs feel incredibly insubstantial. He hadn’t realized until now- just registered it as heat- but he’s sweating so that his shirt is stuck to his torso and his jeans feel insulated past denim.

He has to get out, now. Adam isn’t an idiot, he knows how to recognize an anxiety attack. He just thought he’s been doing better, lately. A couple years ago he’d have these weekly; he’d relied almost entirely on the complete darkness of his double-wide room. Under the blankets, he felt as safe as he could have felt in that house.

Gansey and Blue are staring up at him, smiles still painted on their faces. Adam clears his throat. Fighting to keep his voice steady, he says, “I’m just going to the bathroom.”

He could tell them the truth, but that would ruin the mood. And he doesn’t _really_ need to tell them, does he, just ten minutes alone will solve everything and no one has to know. The concept of opening up when these people already have seen his veins exposed is terrifying. It shouldn’t be, but it is. He has to retain some secrets. That’s the way he safeguards himself.

Gansey and Blue nod in unison and lapse easily back into conversation. Adam feels nauseated; there’s too much heat in this house. From bodies and electricity and fire and the stifling emotions. He can’t do emotions right now. Certainly not attraction.

As he heads for the stairs, Ronan opens his eyes, saying _you okay?_

Adam nods back _yes_ with a surprising amount of grace and an additional amount of guilt.

The upstairs hallway of Fox Way seems slanted. All the portraits on the walls are tilted the same way. The boards are uneven under Adam’s feet as he walks slowly to the bathroom, focusing on keeping himself upright. He’s planning to just sit on the cold tile floor and breathe slowly, slowly until everything is alright again.

One slender hand rests on the white door to the bathroom, finger pads barely touching the wood. Adam didn’t remember that bathrooms usually have mirrors, unavoidable mirrors. If he sees himself in the state he is now things will go downhill very quickly indeed.

A shaky breath. Things are getting worse. He can still hear the music from downstairs. Somewhere closed off; can he duck into an unused bedroom? Would that be weird? It probably would be.

Adam turns around to face the other side of the hall, and is suddenly met with a third option.

There’s a white shutter-door closet at the end of the hall. Assuming there’s nothing heavy in it, he could-

Adam closes his eyes.

Oh, everything is so much worse.

There’s no thought to him, now. These things come on so fast. Adam almost marvels at how quickly his mind can detach from his body. He has plenty of experience from scrying.

This is different, though. It’s entirely in his head, there is no pool of water or candle-flame to dissociate him. A couple weeks before, Cabeswater would be pulling at his thoughts. Adam would have gone so gladly, curling into himself in his dark apartment with his somewhat-soft sheets and let the mist and wet leaves embrace his figure.

Adam finds himself next to the closet, one hand on the small indentation that serves as a doorknob. He does not know how he got there. That’s another thing he thought he was getting better at, too, not having long hours where he could remember nothing past the moment something had hurt him.

Adam takes a moment to stare at the closet. It will be dark, he needs only ten minutes to stop the trembling of his wrists.

_Are you really just going to hide in your room all day, Adam? You-_

Adam is going to hide in the darkness, where it is quiet and safe.

The floor of the closet is the same bare wood as the hallway, but that’s all right. Adam just slowly shuts the shutter-door, making no noise. He sits down against the wall, brings his knees to his chest, wraps his arms around his legs, and takes slow breaths.

With no light, much less sound, and an enclosed space that only he occupies, Adam feels safe.

He closes his eyes. He’s awake.

Adam only realizes time has passed at all when the white noise of the music changes to something steadier, a faint heartbeat. For one terrible moment he thinks it’s the ley line, pulsing in his throat again.

He slowly spreads his hands out in front of him. With eyes adjusted to the darkness, he can make out his thin fingers. How strange it is, he thinks, (and it’s wonderful that he can now think) that his hands have helped his friends and saved himself and sacrificed himself and been bruised and cut and kissed, and yet have survived up until this moment, to shut himself in a closet far away from his friends to hyperventilate.

Is he saving himself? _Maybe I’m just isolating myself further from them._ Adam thinks, on reflex, _I am unknowable._

The problem is, that’s not true anymore. His friends have seen his exposed veins and his heart laid bare and they still love him for it.

Adam hears the creaking of the stairs. It isn’t Ronan’s heaviness or Gansey’s carefulness, and the lightness of the tread leaves Blue. Adam closes his eyes again, if only for a moment.

He can hear Blue at the other end of the hallway, pausing. “Adam?” she calls. Her voice is strong but soft, fleece laid over hard oak wood.

Adam should respond. He _wants_ to respond, his friends can _help_ him. He knows this. But parting his lips takes enough effort as it is, and this completely kills the idea of audible vocals. He tries to breathe out harshly; it works but makes no noise.

“Adam?” calls Blue again. From the sound of a door opening Adam knows she’s checked the bathroom.

If this was Gansey, Adam would feel lower than he already is, which is fairly low itself. He and Gansey have been trying to work on that, in their own ways, the power imbalance and the years of fighting and frustration. Adam knows he loves Gansey and that hurts when he can’t stop thinking about how _above_ Gansey is, above everyone, above him.

If this was Ronan, Adam would feel- he doesn’t know. He and Ronan have been working, too, mostly because some time ago Adam realized he never really knew the whole of Ronan and decided he’d like to figure it out. Ronan, closed off at some points, is very willing to show Adam the parts of himself deemed worthy. It’s ridiculous, but they’ve barely started, with, with what? Adam knows he loves Ronan and that hurts when he can’t stop thinking about how Ronan has no room for casualty, and how Adam does not believe in that level of commitment yet.  

Blue is slowly padding down the hall, checking bedroom doors. Adam feels a little nauseated.

But this is Blue, and with Blue he is comfortable. They can understand each other.

Adam thinks they can.

So he reaches out a fist and with frail knuckles knocks on the door of the closet. He can’t speak. Adam suddenly realizes that Gansey or Ronan or Noah- _Noah-_ would understand immediately, but he has no way of knowing if Blue has ever been in a situation like this. Somehow he still feels safe.

Blue’s footsteps pause. Adam can tell she’s in front of the closet by the way the light through the shutters closes off. There’s also that innate sense he has, of feeling where people are around him. Maybe it’s something he developed in defense, maybe everyone has it and he’s just never asked.

“Adam?” Blue’s voice is softer. Fleece. There’s blankets in here with him. Adam knocks on the door again, staccato.

After a pause, Blue knocks back. Against all deeper feelings Adam huffs a little in laughter. It’s not what he was expecting. Blue is never predictable. Adam’s learned this, but keeps forgetting in the moment.

Blue knocks again. Adam keeps his knuckles against the wood and presses in to make the door shake. It’s fun, not embarrassing, although when Adam breathes in it’s still shaky. How much longer until he calms down completely?

“Can I come in?” Blue asks.

Adam isn’t sure. He trusts Blue, but anyone seeing him in this situation is humiliating. With a white-painted door between them they are friends and equals. Allowing Blue to see his face, well, the scale might tip.

Adam, in his life, has been powerful only a handful of times. He realizes now that Blue cannot take this away from him. She would not want to. They would still be equals.

He raps on the closet door twice, quickly, not knowing any hand signals but still conveying a clear _yes._

Blue slowly opens the closet door, letting in harsh yellow light. Adam can feel her staring at his hunched-over frame. He’s never had someone he liked see him in this situation, and his mind goes into overdrive, this was a bad idea, this was a _very bad idea-_

She simply steps around him to the other side of the closet and pulls the door shut, enveloping them in darkness again. She sits cross-legged in front of him.

Adam can only imagine how he must look, hiding in a closet. This was such a terrible idea, he should have waited, he should not have lost track of time in the first place-

Blue extends a hand, palm up. Adam blinks, a second slower than normal to take assurance from the pitch-black. Determining that there is no real negatives, he reaches out his own hand and takes hers.

Her hand is much smaller than his. And warm, but that might just be the chilled sweat making his hand cool. Blue’s thumb strokes the first segment of his pointer finger. It’s not a romantic gesture, just soothing. Adam is getting used to these small touches. There were periods in his life where he would go weeks, months without anyone touching him in a way that was not meant to _hurt._

He desperately wants to ask how long it’s been since he left, but the words refuse to come. Instead he squeezes Blue’s hand.

“Do you need a couple more minutes?” she asks. She sounds knowing, but not stuck-up knowing. Like she understands. Adam really wants her to understand.

Blue is slowly shaping his fingers into what’s almost a pinching motion. “Do you know sign language? This means ‘no.’” She demonstrates with her other hand, the same pinching motion. “And this is yes.” Her hand closes around Adam’s to form a fist, and she shakes it up and down.

Blue pats his fist. She asks again, “Do you need some more time?”

Adam shakes _yes._

Blue says, “Never let anyone tell you you aren’t a fast learner, Adam,” and then, “Alright,” and that’s it.

He uncurls his hand to wrap it around his legs again; ducks his head down further. Blue isn’t saying any patronizing words like _it’ll get better._ They’re just sitting in companionable silence.

Adam loses track of time again, but it’s not as detached as it was before.

When he finally raises his head Blue is tracing little patterns on the floor. She looks calm and composed, not freaking out over him or incessantly worrying. It’s refreshing. Adam takes a breath and knows he can talk again.

He lays one hand on top of Blue’s and then shakes _yes._ She smiles at him, soft.

_Blue is too wondrous to be fleece,_ he thinks. _Fleece is too simple. She’s too herself. She can be soft and still shake sense into all of us when we need it._

Blue tilts her head. “You ready now?”

In response, Adam unfolds himself to crouch on the floor, then to his feet. He’s barely short enough to not be bludgeoned by boxes sticking out of the top shelves.

Blue motions to the door, saying _after you._ Adam pulls it open.

The hallway still has that steady beat of music from below. It’s not the ley line. It isn’t something he chose for himself or something that sought him out. It is something people he trusts- loves- have played. Adam feels his pulse off-beat from the track and fills his lungs with warmer air that does not feel stifling.  

He clears his throat. “How long was I…?”

“Maybe an hour or so,” Blue responds, easy.

Adam freezes. An _hour._ How could he have lost track of time like that? It had _felt_ like ten minutes. No wonder Blue decided to look for him, everyone must have been worrying over him-

“Adam,” says Blue. It’s grounding. “Adam, look at me. It’s okay.”

Adam just asks, “Were you worried?”

Blue’s expression changes to something Adam can’t describe. She simply says, “Yes. But Adam, that doesn’t mean we don’t like you.”

He didn’t think that, did he?

“Oh,” he says, for something to say. And Blue just holds up her arms, and with no thought towards hesitation, he steps into them.

Her hands press against his back. It’s _nice._ It’s so kind, Adam’s throat is tight. He’s choked up and means it when he says, “Thank you, Blue. Just- _thank you.”_

“I know,” says Blue. She draws back and looks up at him, smiling.

“No, really,” says Adam, because in his mind is his apartment and Gansey’s figurines and a kicked box. “Really, Blue, for everything, thank you. I’m sorry.”

Blue holds up both of his hands and squeezes them. “I know. You don’t have to be sorry for this, though. You be careful, Adam Parrish, because there might be girls in Henrietta who would just kick you from that closet, and you deserve better than that. Don’t let anyone fool you into thinking you don’t deserve that kind of love.”

Adam realizes that he loves Blue, and it hurts because he knows he’s messed up in the past, and is grateful they have what they have now. In that moment he fiercely decides that he’ll work with Blue, too, on their friendship. She deserves it.

He nods once, trying to show her that he understands in his smile. Then he turns towards the stairs.

“Ready to face them again?” asks Blue.

“Maybe if Ronan doesn’t play any more electronica,” says Adam.

He extends a fist to her. Without hesitation, she bumps it.

Adam feels that things, now, are going to be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading


End file.
